BLACK INK SOCIETY {Sci-Fi Thriller} #Wattys2016

Part 6,4: A Danger to the Public

"I really couldn't do anything, I'm sorry."

"How many times did I tell you never to take a bait when you lie? You wouldn't change the truth mid-sentence either, would you?" Irene would never have laughed at him, she was too much of a professional for that. But he could tell it took her a great amount of self-discipline to keep up her calm expression.

"I'm a bad liar." He countered nonchalantly, trying to conceal his embarrassment, "It's part of being a good person." Man, that was just plain stupid.

Irene snorted, amused. "I would consider you many things, Dante, but a good person is not one of them."

"Nah, you're probably right." He lit a cigarette and sat on the table.

Irene threw him an annoyed glance. "If I didn't know better I could almost think you're proud of it." She powered up the little AirScreen she had brought. "I hope our esteemed colleague will turn up soon. What is he even doing? I thought he made it out alive?"

"He did, or that's what he told me at least. Who knows what he got himself into this time..." His gaze fell upon the crumbling walls. "You know, we should probably do something with this place. Give it a paint or something." He drew on his cigarette. "Then again, if someone discovers it, we would have wasted a lot of time for something utterly pointless."

The door flung open.

"What happened?" Dante looked up. "God, you look worse than the picture of Dorian Gray!"

"Great simile," Lupin retorted, stumbling inside.

"Seriously, are you alright?"

"I would assume so. At least it seems I'm not dead yet." He limped across the room and sat down at the table. "I think I sprained my ankle."

"What did you even do, jump out of a window?"

"Believe it or not, that is exactly what happened. If I am to have a garden one day, the last thing I will ever plant in it are roses. Especially not directly below said window."

"But you have the ULM, I trust?" Irene enquired, tilting her head.

"Yes, of course." He smiled whimsically and pulled the memory stick out of his pocket. It had started to rain again, the thick drops drumming on the skylight window, and the grey clouds darkening the natural colours of the room.

Irene plugged the ULM-Stick into her screen.

"The folder is complete, and not even encrypted." She disbelievingly shook her head. "The only journalist too stupid to hide his documents. No wonder he got himself killed."

"Isn't that a little harsh?" Dante said. He knew Irene wasn't exactly the sentimental type, but... "I'm not sure if I would talk about the dead like that."

"I don't think they would mind. They're dead, after all."

Dante pressed his lips together. The chubby woman... Minty... had mentioned an argument between Irene and the murdered editor. They obviously had not parted ways in harmony.

"Look at this. There's a number of adresses in here, some contact files, his personal calendar... all neat and tidy." She smiled.

"What were the last appointments?" Lupin asked. He took off his left shoe, hobbled to the fridge and dug out a coolpad. His ankle was already taking on a light shade of violet. "Maybe he met someone who might be willing to assist us in our efforts."

The fridge had been a kind donation from a nearby office ground. The company it had once belonged to was forced closed their headquarters after a file of bankruptcy, and the entire furniture including this particular fridge had been earmarked for judicial sale. That was, if Dante and Irene hadn't intercepted the delivery van and bestowed the Black Ink Society's inofficial operation base with a brand-new interior fitting. The empty motel had never looked better.

Irene scrolled through the pages. "Strange. There's nothing here. No phone number, no name... Everywhere, except on the day before he died. Wait." She brought her swivel chair closer to the table. "There is one adress in here. A pharmacy on George Lane, Ilford. What on earth did he want there?"

"Maybe he just bought pills." Dante suggested.

"In Redbrigde? That's sixteen miles from where he lives." Irene frowned. "No, there to has be something else. One of my former colleagues mentioned that Garrett met up with a certain Mr. Frye in the same area. That must be him."

"Not just a school reunion, I'd assume."

"Maybe not. Whatever the case, Mr. Frye is our best lead at the moment. Our only lead, to be precise. It seems even Garrett was smart enough not to store any sensible data on his hard drives."

Lupin, holding the coolpad to his foot, pointed to Irene's phone on the table.

"I think you recieved a message."

"Oh, that? No. That's just the PaperCopilation app, signaling breaking news..."

The display lit up, projecting the picture of a young blond newscaster into the room.

"This is BBC news, I'm Yeva Baudin and here are the headlines. The bureau of citizen safety has announced the first prime suspect in the case of Garrett Jardine. According to leading investigators the New London Gazette's editor-in-chief appears to have been killed by a former employee working under a false identity. The suspect, known to the police as Irene Adler, was apparently dismissed over an argument with the victim and murdered him in his office on thursday night. The BCS has declared Adler a danger to the public and reminds the population to stay vigilant; the suspect is assumed to be armed and extremely dangerous."

They stared at the fading picture.

"Gentlemen," Irene said, being the first to regain her speech, "The game is on."